Photo

By Amber A., Stafford, VA

Image Credit: Tabatha B., Peoria, IL

In my closet there’s a photothat shines like rubber,and looks slicklike hair gel.it’s buried under the dressermaking love with the dust,and conforming,to the floor.trapped inside its clear containeris a girl,who only whisperswith little particles of dustunderneath the closet door.whispers that are slick.that dance the salsato no music,and tangowith my eardrums.whispers that get on their rug-burned kneesand release their requests unto me.if only i could set her free,if only i could set her free.